Body Language
by Craft Rose
Summary: In lieu of attending her ex-boyfriend's wedding, Hermione Granger travels across the world and finds herself in the same smoky, sultry bar as Draco Malfoy. There, she discovers just how many drinks it takes to blur the line between unparalleled, incomprehensible hate and dangerous, deep-seated desire. (Warning: Sexual Content and Coarse Language)
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: This was supposed to be a one-shot, but I decided to split it into chapters. Hope you enjoy! **

Their eyes met from across the room.

It was in the middle of a thick, smoke-filled atmosphere that she otherwise would never have been caught dead in, but that night there were emotions at play — and one thing Hermione had never been able to master was the treachery of her own heart. She had fled half across the world to avoid this twisting, aching hurt, but even there, in a bar that overlooked the Pacific Ocean, she couldn't escape her problems.

It was safe to assume the others were laughing and dancing the night away, with the best food and the best drinks money could buy. The gossip had to be buzzing. There was no doubt in her mind. _Ron Weasley gets the shaft from ex-girlfriend. _A small voice in her subconscious told her she should have bucked up and attended, but the more drinks she had, the softer that voice became.

Hermione was in no way, shape or form about to go through the humiliation of attending her ex-boyfriend's wedding, knowing perfectly well that the prospect of marrying her had once reduced him to a fit of laughter so strong, there were actual, honest to Merlin tears in his eyes.

Fuck Ron.

And fuck his wedding.

The witch pounded another glass of firewhiskey. It was strong, so strong she glanced back to plan a safe route to the loo — just in case — but her plans were cut short when someone rather unexpected moved casually to her side of the bar. Within seconds, the loopy feeling in her gut increased, leaving her nerves running high and her mouth wide open.

Hermione turned back, forced her jaw shut and wiped the moisture form her lips; acutely aware of the young man who now stood less than one foot to her left.

"Malfoy," she acknowledged, before he had the chance. "You're far from home."

"This _is _home," he responded, rather swiftly.

Through the corner of her eye, she noticed him slide something to her end of the dark, polished table. It was a business card with his name on it, one that indicated he _owned _the bar inside of which they sat.

The voice inside her head was now cursing up a storm, as punishment for having chosen the one bar in existence that her arch nemesis had built from the ground up. It made sense, given the name — _The Jade Lounge_. Slytherin to a tee. Had it been any other moment of any other night, she would have known to steer clear of anything remotely related to the colour green. But the twisting, aching hurt in her chest offered no such luxury.

She hadn't the focus, nor the energy to distinguish smart from stupid.

"Shouldn't you be at some pedestrian function with those soulless gingers you call friends?" Malfoy asked, rather abruptly.

Hermione had to give it to him. He wasn't one to beat around the bush, even if the bush involved having not seen each other for the past six years. The last time she had laid eyes on this privileged prat was one month after the war had ended. It was during his trial. The Malfoy's pled guilty and were eventually pardoned for their affiliation with the Dark Lord, but their social status was forever tarnished.

"Shouldn't you be spending Daddy's money on a diamond encrusted pedestal?"

Silence followed.

She couldn't tell if he was insulted or impressed, but she figured it was closer to the latter given that the burly bouncers hadn't yet dragged her through the doors. It was a strange thing, their rivalry. There were times in Hogwarts, when she wondered whether or not her seething hatred for him would've been as strong if she hadn't been close friends with his polar opposite.

"Now that we've got the introductions out of the way, how about a drink?" he offered, rather pointedly so the bartender would understand. "Two firewhiskey's on the rocks. Keep 'em coming."

The brunette glanced at him with a firm arch to her brow, and watched as the drinks were being made. She wouldn't put it past Malfoy to slip something into her glass and document the aftermath for all the world to see. Her name wasn't in _The Daily Prophet _nearly as much as before, but those pesky journalists still tossed a line in her social circle every now and then to see what they would catch. It was all pointless, since she hadn't been involved in anything remotely scandalous since — well — ever.

"Two firewhiskey's on the rocks," the bartender chimed in, sliding a couple glasses in their direction.

Hermione was quick to catch hers, giving it one good gulp within seconds. Once again, she wiped the moisture from her lips and found Malfoy staring at her. His eyes hadn't left her at all, even as he took a careful sip from his own glass. It was obvious to her, by then, that he was plotting something. There was always some mischievous plan brewing in that pale-blond head of his.

"Women don't drink like that unless they're trying to forget something," he voiced, eyeing her with knowingness.

She avoided his looks and resolved to take slower, calmer sips. "Maybe I just want a good time."

"There are faster ways to forget, and better ways to make it last."

The arch in her brow deepened. "What makes you so certain there's something I'm trying to forget?"

"Really?" he scoffed, sliding something else to her end of the table. "I may not have graduated at the top of our class, but I'm not an idiot."

Hermione tossed one look to the side and found an invitation card identical to the one she had received about four months ago, but this one was addressed to Malfoy. She gaped at him, unable to stop. "_You _were invited to the wedding?"

The young wizard rolled his eyes. "No, this is addressed to the _other _Draco Lucius Malfoy."

She grimaced. "Don't be a prat. I've every right to be surprised considering — "

"I used to be a Death Eater?" he finished, using the invitation as a coster. "I'll save you the confusion. I used to be well-acquainted with the bride."

"You were mates with Gabrielle?" Hermione asked, genuinely taken aback.

He shrugged and took another drink, longer this time. "Mates, colleagues, fuck buddies…It's all the same after a certain point, don't you agree?"

The witch blinked, rather hard. "I take it Ron doesn't know."

"Oh, he knows," Malfoy smirked, quite satisfied with himself. "Why else would he have invited me?"

Hermione paused a moment, and then nodded. "Fair point."

It was classic Ron to rub something in someone's face, even at their age. The surprise left her bloodstream, replaced with a certain level of dizziness that she suspected was direct result of the firewhiskey. Her glass was empty, as was Malfoy's, but the bartender did his duty and kept the drinks coming.

She was onto her fourth by the time she remembered there was a conversation to be had.

"So," Hermione began. "There's obviously a reason you didn't attend the wedding. What is it?"

Malfoy scoffed something vicious. "Please, what would I do at such an asinine gathering? Discuss politics with Arthur Weasley?"

"Valid argument," she reasoned. "_But _skipping out on the wedding gives Ron the upper hand, wouldn't you say so?"

The wizard turned to her, with eyes as narrow as slits. In them, she didn't see disdain or any of the expected emotions. "Back at you, Granger."

Hermione returned his penetrating stare, and swirled the firewhiskey in her glass, watching as it smoothed over the ice cubes like waves crashing over rocky terrain. Her misery can't have been that obvious, but those greyish eyes didn't lie. To her grave misfortune, Malfoy was spot on.

"Why _are_ you so hung up on him? Potter's clearly the better choice."

She choked on her drink. "_Wh — What?_"

"Don't sit there and tell me you've never had a thing for the Chosen One."

"Have you?" Hermione asked, rather seriously.

The blond rolled his eyes. "I prefer my men rich and my women famous, not the other way around," he answered, sharp as glass. "Now get on with it."

She opened her mouth, only then realizing there were no words that came to mind. In all her years as Harry's close friend, she had never seen him as anything more than that — but the thought had occurred to her once or twice. The first time was in their Third Year, when they had saved Sirius from his untimely death. The second and last time time was during their journey to find and destroy the horcruxes, just after Ron had abandoned them.

But years had passed since then, and none of those doubts ever came to fruition.

"Why are you so fascinated with my love life?" she blurted.

"Don't flatter yourself," Malfoy added, rather terse in his response. "At best, it's morbid curiosity. You're like a social experiment gone wrong."

This time, Hermione rolled her eyes. "You're bad at this."

"At what?"

"Flirting."

"Flirting?" he repeated, sounding more surprised than he looked. "I sincerely hope you haven't mistaken my generosity for something it's not. Here I am, trying to be a good host."

Hermione scoffed at his claims. "Oh, please. Unlike you, I _did _graduate at the top of our class, so I'm _definitely _not an idiot."

There was a hint of a smile on his lips — ever so slight. "Elaborate for me."

"It's all about body language," she answered, smooth as silk. "Your body is turned to me. Your head tilts in my direction when you speak. You haven't broken eye contact all night. You're actually smiling instead of smirking, and when I look at you —" As she did in that very moment. " — your eyebrows raise just a little, indicating that you're attracted, even if you don't want to be."

Yet again, silence followed.

Malfoy cleared his throat and resolved to adjust the collar on his outfit, which was monochrome: black shirt, black blazer, black trousers. There was only a single touch of colour in his otherwise colourless exterior, and it was the slow but steady blush that tinted his cheeks.

"Either way, I don't blame you," she smiled, running one hand through her chocolate locks, whilst resting the other on her knee.

Her dress that evening was the one she planned on wearing to the wedding. It was a ruby red, panelled, floor-length number made entirely of chiffon — a little much for a bar, but also something she had spent a decent amount of money on. There was no point in letting it go to waste.

"Interesting choice in attire," Malfoy remarked, flicking his eyes up and down, in such a way that the smile vanished from her lips. "Donna Karen, I presume?"

She nodded, unsurprised. "I bought it for the wedding."

"So you were planning on going at some point," he concluded. "What changed your mind?"

"None of your business," Hermione retorted, sounding anything but perturbed.

Her company for the evening smiled. "You had sex."

The witch turned, looking to him with bewilderment. "_What?_"

"You had sex," he repeated, folding his arms, quite proud of himself. "It's written all over your face. You're not here to escape the fact that Weasel is getting married to another woman. You're here to escape the fact that you fucked someone — someone close to him, I reckon."

Hermione tossed him a casual glare. "Bollocks. All of it."

"Here's the thing, Granger. I'm good at these things, figuring people out."

"Evidently not," she scoffed. "Because I haven't had good sex in —"

"I never said it was _good_ sex," Malfoy interjected, tilting his head towards her in that way. "If it were any good, you'd be back in England with whomever it was that railed you. I'm thinking…one of his brothers. Charlie, maybe?"

There was a hitch in her chest, though she did her best to ignore it. Hermione had no plans to reveal any such scandal, not to the likes of him. "You're enjoying this way too much."

He smiled. "I'm right, aren't I? About everything."

The brunette had another drink from her glass, and then another after the bartender replaced it. The dizziness in her bloodstream was beginning to make her head spin, or was it something else? She couldn't tell, not then. All she could do was sit there and listen to the music in the background. It was an old school jazz number that reminded her of Christmas with her family. Her parents loved jazz.

"Even if what you're saying is true," Hermione spoke, unbeknownst to where these words had come from. "There's no way you'll ever know."

"Oh, but I already know. It's all about body language, you see."

She turned to him, seething with disdain at the sight of his deepening grin. Oh, how the tables had turned. She couldn't decide what frustrated her more: that he wasone hundred percent correct in his assumptions or that she would have to sit there and endure it.

The nerve of him.

"It was a mistake," she finally said, deciding enough was enough. "It was the night after the bachelor party. I stayed back at the Burrow to help Mrs. Weasley with some last minute preparations, and we shared some wine. The boys came back with a drunken Ron in tow and most of them went to bed, but Charlie stayed up and helped me tidy around. He was still drunk. I was still drunk. One thing led to another and before either of us realized what was happening…I was sprawled across the dining table with all four legs wobbling beneath me."

With that, Hermione took another drink, wondering how on earth she was still alive after consuming so much alcohol. She refused to look in Malfoy's direction, for obvious reasons. There was no chance in hell she wanted to see his signature smirk up close, not after what she had just shared.

In an unexpected move, the young man pulled the glass from her grasp. "Enough."

"What are you doing?"

"I'm cutting you off," he said, firmly, sliding the glass out of reach and motioning something to the bartender, as if to tell him they were done for the night.

The witch's face screwed. "_Why_?"

"Because," he told her, standing up from the stool and holding his hand out to her. "There are other ways to forget."

**A/N: Thank you so much for reading this chapter! Please leave a review. Your feedback means a lot! **

**As per usual, there is a song paired with this story. "Save the Night" by John Legend. His vocals are so sexy. Shiiiiet. **

**Cheers**

**xo. **


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Second chapter! I hope you like it! **

There was music in the background, delivered to her in low, rhythmic vibrations. It was nothing she had ever heard before, but something about this music served as a precursor for the events that followed. By then, the bar had cleared out. This should have given her reason to flee the scene and never return, but something about the music paired with the manner in which he led her from the bar to the centre of the stage, made her worries evaporate into the thick, hazy atmosphere.

The young wizard reached into the confines of his blazer and withdrew his snake-engraved, silver-handled wand, with which he conjured a single chair. Hermione thought to ask what was going on or what he had planned, but the words had barely grazed her tongue, when Malfoy carefully took her, by the hand, and positioned her on the chair.

If there were ever a moment to be nervous or skeptical, it was then, but Hermione had no words to speak or questions to raise. She simply watched him, as he stepped back and dimmed the lights. It was difficult to see the look in his eyes, to gauge what was going on. In a matter of seconds she could see nothing but his outline, deeply shrouded in clouds of smoke.

It happened fast after that.

The music rose in volume, penetrating her thin defence as she waited. There was something building in her chest, something that branched out to every inch of her body. It was rough and heated, and made the rhythm of her breathing turn shallow. She could focus on nothing but him. There was light reflected from the top of his pale blond hair, casting an ethereal glow about him as he shrugged off his blazer and without warning, tossed it directly onto her lap.

Hermione gasped and caught the designer garment out of pure reflexive action. Her deep brown eyes widened, and she looked to him with growing tension. It was clear to her then, what was happening. His words. His actions. His secrecy.

After over a decade of knowing him and his mannerisms, she knew without a single doubt in her mind that those lips had twitched into a smouldering sideways smirk. If there were ever a reason to stand on her two feet and wipe that smirk off his face, she had it, but her body had been rendered immobile — from latent intrigue rather than magic.

There was about four or five feet of space between them, space that decreased with each passing second, as Malfoy approached her. His movements were relaxed and unrehearsed, and maintained perfect rhythm with the steady, surreptitious sounds that came from the speakers.

Hermione wasn't sure if it was the firewhiskey or the growing tension in her chest, but something caused her temperature to rise. It was all she could do to sit there and make a conscious effort _not _to fan the warmth from her body. She didn't want to give him the satisfaction. In all her years — twenty-four, to be precise — no man had ever been so bold.

_There are other ways to forget_, he had told her, just moments before.

It was then and only then, that she realized he was right.

Those worries. Those stresses. Those guilt-ridden concerns were miles away, in a different continent, across the Atlantic Ocean. There was only one thought going through her mind and it had nothing to do with the wedding or those involved.

In a matter of seconds, he was in front of her, so close she could see him, not for the boy he was but the man he had become. She had never before taken the time to give him a proper look, to notice the broadness in his shoulders and his overall length. He was tall. He was very, very tall. It almost hurt to look up at him, with her head tilted all the way back, but she couldn't bring herself to look forward — not yet.

Hermione breathed in through her mouth and tasted his scent of dark chocolate and firewhiskey. She racked her brain in an attempt to name his cologne, as more of a distraction than anything else, but the only word that came to mind was one that had been caught on her tongue since the moment this began.

_More. _

She wanted more. She wanted everything, and the moment Draco Lucius Malfoy, the bane of her existence, placed one hand on each of her knees and slowly spread her legs apart, his own desires become evident. There was an arch in her back, as he leaned in, starting from the bottom and moving higher and higher, rolling with so much precision that Hermione had no choice but to exhale. She had no idea the ferret could move like this. The men she knew could hardly walk in a straight line, and so far the only line Malfoy seemed to tread was the one that separated them for so long.

His face hovered inches from hers. There had to be a way to even things out and turn this table around, where it belonged, but he didn't give her the chance. With one finger, he tilted her chin up and blew a single stream of air down the column of her neck. This alone seemed to disentangle the last layer of her inhibitions, and he continued, taking her by the hands and placing them on the buttons that ran down his shirt.

Without meaning to, she gasped, inundated by the music and the movements and the masquerade that was their earlier conversation. It was all foreplay, carefully constructed foreplay that resulted in a lap dance she had no idea she wanted so bad.

Her small, slender fingers worked the buttons on his shirt from bottom to top and the blush on her cheeks deepened, as she got an eyeful of the masterpiece that waited underneath. This was not the pale, sinewy physique she had expected. His muscles were hard and defined, and cut like an ivory sculpture.

_Fuck. _

"You're blushing," he whispered to her, leaning forward so that the front ends of his wispy blond fringe tickled her forehead.

She was sweating, too.

But there was no way for him to know unless he touched the back of her neck or the narrow space between her breasts — and at this rate it seemed likely that, that would happen.

Hermione inhaled, at a loss.

It was so much so fast, and yet he couldn't move fast enough to satiate the desire burning deep within her core. With one shrug, he removed his shirt and tossed it to dark, polished flooring. The definition in his muscles continued along his arms and shoulders, and with one look, she noticed something truly unexpected. He had a tattoo; a full sleeve that depicted a scene from an old pureblood legend, involving two silver-tongued snakes and their battle to the death. The tattoo ran along his left arm and over his chest, covering another, significantly smaller tattoo and causing the heat between their bodies to increase at an incredible rate.

She slowly and carefully brushed her fingers over his tattoo, realizing then that the snakes didn't move, which meant a Muggle had inked him.

The witch tossed him a curious look.

"A souvenir from Japan," he answered, reading her thoughts. "By the way, I'm not done with you."

Hermione glanced back, startled as he moved around her and gathered her hair into one hand, freeing her neck and shoulders, and leaving them vulnerable to another soft stream of air. Her eyes rolled to the back of her skull, and in that moment it became clear.

To think, she had once loathed him beyond words or comprehension and now, she wanted nothing more than to run her tongue along the ridges of his muscles and most notably, the trail of hair that escaped beneath his trousers.

She wanted him.

She wanted him **bad**.

**A/N: Thanks for reading this chapter! Drop a review and tell me what you think/what you hope will happen. For anyone interested, the song he's dancing to is "Hold On, We're Going Home" by Drake. A little on the cheesy side, but can you imagine. *fans self* **

**Cheers**

**xo. **


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Last chapter! **

Hermione breathed in, as he ran his fingertips from her shoulders down to her wrists, burying his face in the crook of her neck as he went. It was all she could do not to turn around, where he leaned against her, and devour his foul mouth in a kiss so riveting that he would feel it long after the night was over. In simple words, she wanted him to remember her — not only as his bushy-haired classmate, but also as a woman; a woman with one thing on her mind.

It happened all too fast after that.

There was a quiver in her lip, as he combed through her chocolate brown curls with one hand and used the other to tilt her head backwards, in his direction. Until then, her eyes had been closed, but the second she opened them was the second she realized there was no point in fighting this — not that she had tried hard at all.

Their eyes met, and he held her gaze in such a way that she didn't dare blink. In those eyes, she saw something deeper than attraction.

_Breathe. Remember to breathe. _

There were no external forces to hold them apart. There was only a second — maybe less — between this phase and the next. Before then, it had been an intangible fantasy, something she had internalized and kept secret from even her dearest friends. The attraction between them ran deep, deeper than either of them would have cared to admit.

Her eyes fluttered shut.

His did, too.

The song faded into the background, leaving the bar silent and still. There was only one sound, and it was not music or nightlife ambiance. It was the sound of her name on his lips — not Granger or Mudblood or know-it-all or any of the usual names.

"_Hermione…_" he whispered to her, brushing their lips together and delivering a single stream of vibrations from his mouth to hers.

It was the first time he had ever addressed her using her given name. She couldn't quite describe the feeling that erupted in her chest, at the mere sound of it, but it was something close to euphoric. She felt dazed and delirious. She wanted more, and before the words found her lips, _he _did.

Her temperature rose and rose and rose. The feeling in her chest reached an all time high. It took every ounce of strength she could muster, in order to breathe and to kiss back in proper fashion. His lips were soft against hers, and firm in all the right places. She had never been kissed like this before, with her head tilted backwards and with every reason in the world to be terrified. But the concerns that had once held her back were now driving her closer and closer to him.

It started feathery and light, as though he were testing the waters, seeing what it was like to kiss the know-it-all Muggle-born herself, and after several excruciating seconds of this, he kissed her deeper and with abandon.

Hermione exhaled, overcome with the sensations that rippled through her body. The arch in her back was hard and fixed, in a way that pushed her chest out and made it easier to kiss back. It should have ached, but it didn't. The strain only excited her. She couldn't recall a single moment in her adult life, when something as simple as kissing had felt so pleasurable.

But this was no regular kiss.

It was one rapturous wave after another, frozen for only a moment, as he lifted her from the chair and positioned her on top of him, with one leg on either side. She gasped, surprised by the change in position but enthralled all the same. His hands traveled through her hair and down her back, tugging at the material on her dress and grazing his fingers against her skin.

The manner in which he kissed her, so deeply and so wildly, made each muscle in her body ache for him.

"_Hermione…_" he whispered again, speaking her name over the lips he had just ravished.

She moaned in response, caught in the waves. "_How long…How long have you…_"

"_Always_," he answered, swift and subtle in his response. "_I've always wanted you._"

There were no more words left to speak. There were only barriers — barriers in the shape of her dress and his trousers. She ran her hands down his torso and up, over his shoulders, dragging her nails against the skin of his back. The muscles in his chest and abdomen hardened in response, along with something else. He exhaled, grabbing handfuls of her dress and tugging — hard.

There was a tear.

There were several tears.

But she didn't care.

The biggest tear was straight through the centre, revealing a strapless, nude colour bra and sweat-slicked cleavage.

It didn't last long, but she was nervous. This was the first time she had revealed herself to someone since Charlie, and that had not gone well. But the young man on top of whom she sat, did not look at her with the same pathetic wide-eyed lust as her previous suitors. This man was different.

His smoky, grey eyes drank her figure from head to toe, in a way that told her he had imagined this moment for a long, long time.

There were several seconds when he said and did nothing but look at her, either from shock or amazement, or both. It should have made her more nervous, but it didn't, because the look in his eyes told her this meant something to him, and without prolonging the moment any longer, he grasped the bottom hem of her dress and lifted the garment from her body.

Just like this, she was on top of him in nothing but her bra and panties. Somewhere along the line, she had known to kick her heels off. The polished, hardwood floor was cold against her feet but this only drove her closer to him and his warmth. It took her by surprise, the amount of body heat that radiated from him. Something in her mind had always assumed he would be cold to the touch.

But he was warm, and sitting on top of him was like sitting across from a blazing campfire after a long, treacherous journey.

There were many things that led them here, many hardships and broken promises, but nothing about those external forces existed beyond this point.

Without further ado, he brushed his fingers under her chin and swept her lips in another kiss, one that started from her mouth and branched out to every inch of her body. She shuttered against him, grasping his face, neck and shoulders, caught in this whirlwind of action and reaction.

Something hardened beneath her, something she had spent many nights thinking about. It went without saying that Malfoy was an attractive specimen, and although Hermione had once scolded herself for thinking about him in such a way, she could not deny the fact that he simply _oozed _sex. From his eyes to his body to his subtle sideways smirk. It made her hot just thinking about him, about the fact that his hands were on her and that his lips — the lips that were now slick and swollen — were now sucking and nibbling her neck.

She tilted her head to the side, giving him leeway. The sensations in her core only multiplied. There was nothing holding her back, not the voice in her head or the fact that their song had long ended.

"_Hermione…_" he whispered again, along the column of her throat.

The brunette moaned once more, unknowingly grinding her hips against his. There was an increase, in both the hardness beneath her and the pressure in her core. She wrapped her arms around his neck and leaned forward, capturing him in a kiss so deep that their teeth bumped against one other's.

The pair laughed together, only for a moment, but long enough to realize it was possible.

In the midst of this discovery, Hermione brushed her hands down his front and traced one finger along the hem of his trousers. Her intentions were clear, and so were his. With one hand, he unhooked her bra and brought air to her lungs, giving her the release she had craved all night. She leaned back, recognizing the hunger in his eyes, and sucked in a sharp breath as he ran his lips and tongue over her bare breasts. She wasn't particularly shapely, but he didn't seem to mind. He worked her modest curves as though he'd been born to do so, coaxing several more moans from her parted lips.

In an unanticipated maneuver, he lifted her up, into his arms and laid her down on the floor, hovering over her with one arm on either side.

Hermione glanced to him, tugging her bottom lip and running both hands through her hair, as he cascaded down her body. Something tingled between her legs. His hands were near there, hooked on the sides of her thin panties, where he dragged them down, slowly and carefully. She released a long, staggered breath, bringing moisture to her upper lips as he worked on her lower ones.

_G — Gods. _

His mouth was on her.

His lips were on her.

His tongue was on her.

She couldn't believe it, but there was no time to think. It felt too good to think. There she was, in the middle of an empty bar, with Draco Malfoy between her legs where anyone could have walked in at any moment. But the idea of being caught only excited her further. Part of her wanted people to know about this — namely her friends.

There was no shame in being with him, when he worked her body like this, hitting all the right places and never missing a beat.

It wasn't long before she came undone, grasping her own breasts and arching her back so hard that the pain of doing so was almost as strong as the pleasure that rippled through her core in long, winding, heart stopping currents. The best part was that he didn't stop. He kept at it, helping her through the climax in a strong, steady fashion.

She cried out, with actual tears in her eyes, holding the arch in her back until the last wave traveled through her body, after which she fell lifelessly to the floor in a breathy, sweaty heap.

Malfoy came to her then, combing the hair from her face and kissing her with gentle motions. She could taste herself on him and relished the fact that her arousal coated his lips, the lips that had once been used to insult her. It was like poetic justice — justice she wanted to relive over and over and over again.

In a moment of pure adrenaline, she hooked one leg around him and turned them, so that she was on top. The action of doing so, seemed to take him by surprise as much as her. She had no idea she was that strong, but there was no time to care. She crawled down his body as he had hers. The muscles along his torso came to life, hardening and releasing and hardening and releasing. It was like a symphony, one that she controlled.

There was energy between them, tension that existed since their school days. Back then, they had misinterpreted this energy as rivalry, but it was far from that. It was sexual — smooth and sweltering in the way it consumed them. She had once despised this young man, wishing things as horrible as expulsion upon him. Now, the feelings he triggered within her were far from repulsion or hate, but equal in both strength and calibre.

She made her way from his lips to the tattoo to the button on his trousers, where she used her teeth.

His entire body shuttered.

It was almost as arousing as what he had done, but this time was different because this time was about him.

With both hands, she dragged his trousers down with his boxers and watched as the trail of hair continued, from below his bellybutton to what waited for her lower. There was moist-eyed lust in her eyes, lust he reflected. She ran her tongue between her lips, suddenly at a loss. His size. His girth. Just knowing she had done this to him was enough to send her over the edge again, but she couldn't lose herself before he did — not then.

Hermione lowered, wrapping one hand around him, whilst dragging her tongue up and down his length. His body quivered for her. She loved every moment of it, never having realized how enjoyable doing it could be, until she was doing it to him.

"_You taste…so good…_" she told him, meaning every word.

The young man lifted his pelvis from the floor, probably without knowing, and ran his fingers through her hair, keeping it out of her eyes so their gaze wouldn't break. She worked on him, starting slow and sensual, and picking up the pace when his sounds became louder and harder to control.

It was close to that time again, close to the moment his muscles would contract for the last time, only to release from the tip she so deliciously brushed and sucked.

There was a part in his lips, from where he struggled to find the words to tell her, perhaps warn her in case she wasn't ready. She responded by going harder and faster, and diving so deep that he could hold back no longer.

This time, he cried out, using that husky, hoarse voice that drove her wild. Still in her mouth, he pulsed, several times, so much that she had to make a conscious effort not to choke. But there was no way she would release him, not until he was done. Until then, he had been the one to pleasure her and work her. It felt good to take the reigns and show him she had some tricks up her sleeve.

Malfoy exhaled, dragging out his breaths in long lungfuls. "_You_," he breathed. "_You — You'll be the death of me, woman._"

She couldn't resist the smile that tugged her lips. She wiped them with the back of her hand and propped her back against the legs of the chair, watching as his chest rose and fell in quick succession. Already, she was aroused again, just by the sight of him like this, so gloriously vulnerable to her every whim.

"I need a cigarette," she confessed, tilting her head back and relaxing the strain in her muscles.

It seemed Malfoy was two steps ahead of her, because he rummaged through the pockets in his blazer and retrieved a silver cigarette case along with a lighter. First, he popped one between his lips and then between hers, coming within inches of her face as he lit both tips in one swipe of the lighter. Together, they sucked in and then out, blowing soft streams of smoke.

Hermione wasn't much of a smoker, and she suspected he wasn't either judging by the scent of him and his breath. But some nights called for a nice, long drag, and this night was one of them. She turned to her side, making o's and watching as he did the same, beside her.

It made her cheeks warm just thinking about it because even then, his eyes hadn't left her. There was something meaningful about the way he looked at her, with so much depth and understanding. They could have talked. They could have discussed what happened and whether anything would follow, but words were superfluous when emotions ran so deep.

His arm found her waist, in this moment of soundless, wordless exchange. She pulled the cigarette from her mouth and put it out with wandless magic, as he had done with his, before tilting her head towards him. Their foreheads brushed together and by doing so, formed a triangle between them. It was the strongest shape for a reason and as Malfoy grazed his lips along the bridge of her nose, down to the lips he had devoured not moments ago, that strength grew.

Hermione blinked, feeling his eyelashes against hers, and soon, his lips.

It was a calm, delicate kiss that left her weak in countless ways. The moment she breathed in was the moment he breathed out. Together, this motion continued, in rhythm with the _th-thump th-thump _that hammered against her chest. So silent. So still. There were no more clothes to strip or inhibitions to tackle down. There were only lips and hands and breathing and quicker than either of them had anticipated, _readiness._

Again, he lifted her into his arms and carried her away from the stage, to the piano, never breaking eye contact.

Just as he had on the chair, he positioned them on the piano bench with her on top, straddling him.

Another deep, raspy breath escaped her lips, as he broke the kiss to find air. She noticed the energy in his eyes, having recognized it and craved it from the moment he approached her. His sex appeal ran deep, so deep she couldn't deny it, even as a teenager, and especially then. This moment was years in the making. To think, she had not seen him for six years was a shock in itself, but even more shocking was the ease in which they had transitioned from rivals to lovers.

Because that's what this was.

Everything.

With purpose, he leaned closer to her, pressing her back against the piano. But nothing, not even the sound of the keys broke his concentration. It made her feel like a teenager all over again, connecting with another person and being touched as if for the first time. She ran her fingers through the hair on the back of his head. It was soft and conditioned, and played strongly to his androgynous allure.

Their faces touched, and without another second to spare, he spoke to her. "_Now?_"

"_Now…_" Hermione breathed, with those same currents running through her veins. It was strong and staggering, like electricity.

In response, Malfoy said nothing. Instead, he lifted her up with one arm around her waist and onto him, making her gasp.

There were words people used to describe such sensations, and yet none of those words seemed good enough. It wasn't just his size or his girth, or the fact that he was hard as granite. It was the slow, building desire that brewed within her from the mere touch of him. She wiggled her hips, hearing her name on his breath, as he helped her slide all the way down.

There was blood on her lip from how hard she bit into it. The coppery liquid coated her tongue and for no apparent reason, turned her on even more.

Malfoy licked the blood and kissed her some more, muffling both their moans as she met him grind for grind and thrust for thrust. His length filled her so completely. She could no longer tell the difference between up and down or left and right.

It was all a giant blur, and the longer and harder and faster they moved, the more she wanted him — in every way possible.

Sensing this, he switched their positioning and spread her across the lid of the piano, pressing down several keys along the way. Again, they laughed together but it lasted only as long as it took for him to thrust inside her again. This time, she was flat on her back with one leg over his shoulder. The feel and look of him, as he hovered over her, alternating between slow and fast and hard and calm, made her hot in twelve different places at once.

Using one hand, he stroked the smoothness of her leg. Using the other, he swiped and rubbed that magic place, causing her eyes to flutter shut and the points of her breasts to stiffen and tingle.

She moaned out loud, calling him.

_Draco. _

_Draco. _

_Draco. _

His speed increased each time she spoke his name, and again, she came undone, tightening and then releasing. Her entire body quivered for him, beckoning him to continue and do this again. He did. He moved even faster and even harder, scooping her up and on top of him again, making the piano bench shake beneath them as she rode him.

This time, his back was flat against the surface.

Hermione gathered what focus she could and used this chance to show him what she could do, and in how many ways.

The man groaned beneath her, struggling to meet her movements and surprised as she caressed him in other places. His eyes widened, for only a split second, before he reached up and palmed her breasts, rubbing and tugging her nipples to the point that she nearly collapsed forward from the sensation.

But her drive was impenetrable.

She continued.

She bounced and swayed, and damn near made him pass out from how hard and how fast she was riding him. It was a wonder he hadn't yet come apart. There was familiar build-up in his core, but this time it wasn't triggered by her lips or tongue. It was pure, unadulterated love-making that detonated the strong, concentrated influx of energy that was his climax. It was long. It was nuclear. It transferred from his body to hers, pushing her over the edge for the third time that night.

Each second. Each moment that led up to this one played through Hermione's mind within the milliseconds that it took to fall lifelessly on top of him. Even in his tired, depleted state, he knew to wrap an arm around her and secure her to his chest. Together, they breathed, in and out, caught in the throws of their passion and the imminent question that followed.

"Her — Hermione?" he asked, struggling to catch his breath.

The brunette ran her tongue between her lips, bringing some much needed moisture to them. "Yes?"

There was a momentary pause, wherein his struggles were geared to something else. "At the risk of sounding cliche, I won't admit that I've wanted you for years or that I've fantasized about you on and off since you slapped me across the face in Third Year —"

She smiled.

" — But I will admit that what happened tonight was no mistake, not for me." He lifted her up and positioned them on the bench, side-by-side — once again, never breaking eye contact. "Let me take you out."

Her eyebrows raised. "As in…"

"On a date."

"You don't have to —"

" — I want to," he interjected, searching through her eyes. "I mean, as long as you do."

She glanced down, thinking distantly of the last time she had taken that risk and given her time to someone. It burned, even then, years later, thinking about the consequences. "I…I don't know…" she spoke, in a quiet voice. "I…I don't think I can…not right now…"

The growing hope in his eyes fell, but he covered it with a smile. Instead of poking and prodding and pressuring her the way Ron had, he accepted her answer and turned to the piano, placing his fingers on the keys and playing a song; perhaps to fill the atmosphere with something other than heartache.

In a strange turn of events, she didn't gather her clothes and head back to her hotel room. She sat with him, across from the piano, and watched. His eyes were closed as he played, as though he had memorized the keys and their placement. For the first time, he wasn't looking at her, and something about that made her insides twist with longing.

Hermione leaned her head against his shoulder and breathed in, feeling the answer first in her chest and then on the tip of her tongue.

But she didn't have to say anything, because he already knew.

It was all about body language, and in hers, he happened to be fluent.

**The End**

**(for now *devilish grin*)**

**A/N: Thanks for reading! This fanfic was super last minute and came to me all in one ago, about four nights ago. I'm a sucker for one-shots, which is what I had intended this to be, but it's decently long so I figured I should split it up. I hope you enjoyed it! Please tell me what you think. It's always interesting (and sometimes terrifying) going through the reviews haha. **

**Cheers**

**xo. **


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